


the pain of parting is nothing (to the joy of meeting again)

by sokovianaccords (eurogirl)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (because of course she does i mean come ON), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Peggy Carter Lives, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steggy Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9138112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurogirl/pseuds/sokovianaccords
Summary: Everything changed the day Peggy was abducted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for karadanxers as part of the Steggy Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr
> 
> Title is a quote from _Nicholas Nickleby_ by Charles Dickens

Her new nurse was a very interesting young man. Average height, brown hair. Quiet, courteous, strong accent—Sokovian, if she was hearing him right. And yes, she was quite old and her memory was not what it once was, but Peggy _always_ heard right.

Her new medication, which was utterly dreadful, always made her drowsy and slow to respond. For a spy, a deadly combination.

And Peggy never stopped being a spy.

She felt herself slipping into sleep much faster than usual, even on the new medication her doctor had commanded her to take—young enough to be her great-granddaughter and ordering her around like her drill sergeant.

Her thoughts skittered around her head, aimless, crashing into each other without any sort of coherency. The room was warm, and her eyelids were heavy. The pull of sleep was too strong to resist, even for her.

As she drifted away, she heard thumbs tapping against a screen and the accompanying clicks of a virtual keyboard.

=====

She dreamt. Or maybe, even more horrifically, she didn’t.

A cold metal table, blinding lights. People in surgical masks staring over her, holding hypodermic needles and muttering incomprehensible instructions.

Fire burning through her veins.

=====

She woke in a cell.

She came to consciousness slowly, her head stuffed with cotton. Abduction was an occupational hazard for any agent, and Peggy had been on the receiving end far too many times, in her estimation. Having been kidnapped so many times, though, gave Peggy a certain degree of expertise, as well as a proven series of steps to escape as soon as possible.

_Regulate breathing and heartrate._

She took deep, even breaths, counting to five on each inhale and exhale, mind clear of every other thought. If her captors monitored her vital signs, the blip of waking could be explained as a spike in brain activity or some other physiological aberration, which would give her a precious few seconds before having to confront them.

_Evaluate your surroundings with your ears, nose, and touch._

Wherever Peggy was, it was quiet. There was no whirr of machinery or beeping of medical equipment, no voices or movement from any other people in the space. She let out a small sigh—audible, so she hadn’t gone deaf and the place was in fact empty. She sniffed carefully, but other than the faint scent of lemony disinfectant, there were no discernible smells to help her identify her location or position. She rotated her wrists—untethered, resting on a soft cloth. A quick metal scan confirmed what she already suspected. She lay on a bed or stretcher, wearing cotton undergarments, some sort of camisole, and shorts made of a spandex material. Her legs and torso were also free of restraints, which was unexpected. She had been imprisoned with minimal restraints before, but never without any at all.

_Evaluate the situation with your eyes and without movement_

Peggy’s eyes fluttered open, only to be assaulted by the bright fluorescent light of the single exposed bulb in the ceiling. She slammed them shut as the unexpected brightness drove through her head like a spike, splitting her skull with a sudden and searing headache.

When her eyes were able to focus, she saw utilitarian gray walls and ceiling. There were no windows or furniture, other than the bed on which she currently rested. There was a metal toilet and sink in one corner, and the door was some sort of reinforced steel. It could not be opened from the inside, as far as she could see, and there was a single slot in the middle of the door, presumably to deliver her meals. Unless they planned to starve her, which she fervently hoped was not the case. Not that she couldn’t survive it, but it would make it decidedly more difficult for her to escape.

_Evaluate your own status_

She took a deep breath and sat upright, immediately tensing in anticipation of her captors rushing the door. When no one burst into her little cell, she sighed in relief. She placed a hand on her chest--the persistent rattle in her chest that had accompanied every breath for the past couple years was absent.

She froze, mentally scrolling through the long list of aches, pains, and ailments that had plagued her as she aged. Her head was clear, memories slotting into place like they hadn’t since the first time she forgot her niece’s name. Her shoulders, chronically sore from years of being yanked around in the field, were free of pain. Her knees felt brand new, her chest light.

Peggy lifted her hands to her hair, which she found as thick and silky as it had been during her youth. She slid her hands down her face—all her wrinkles, hard-earned badges of pride, were smooth, as if they had never existed.

She dropped her hands to her thighs, took a fortifying breath, and looked down.

“Oh, bugger.”

====

If Peggy were honest with herself, this was probably the worst situation she had ever found herself in. And that included the time she was almost hanged.

She knew exactly nothing, which she found absolutely unacceptable. Her cell was without windows, so her only method of tracking the passage of time was the single light hanging from the ceiling, which turned off for several hours during what she assumed was the night. She couldn’t tell what season it was, or whether the sun actually set when the light blinked out, or where her cell was located. Her captors were invisible and silent--meals would be delivered through the slot in the door three times a day, and the refuse would be removed an hour later by some sort of robot, almost like young Anthony’s Iron Man suits.

Peggy thought she had been held in that cell for about two weeks, though it was impossible to be sure. The hours and days all blended together among the four cement walls, and it would have been enough to drive Peggy mad if she hadn’t been concerned with more pressing matters.

Namely, understanding exactly what had been done to her.

The first priority of any captured agent was to escape. Gathering intel and dispatching the abductors were preferable outcomes, of course, but the first and ultimate goal was to make it out alive. It was a rule Peggy knew well, having been both agent and director, but she found herself breaking it day after day as the hours passed by.

The first priority of any captured agent was to escape, but rather than scope out exits or disable the robots for parts to be used in an escape attempt, Peggy used her days to learn about herself. She tested her limits constantly—how high she could jump, how much she could carry, how long she could stay awake without needing sleep, how little she could eat and still survive. She gave herself memory tests, recalling old battles and codes and the faces of friends long forgotten.

And after two weeks, she was sure of just a few truths. Physically, she was in her late 20s, at least how she remembered herself back then. Perhaps a little faster and stronger, but otherwise about the same. Her memories and knowledge were those of a much older woman, though as far as she could tell, her dementia and related issues had been cured by whatever monstrous drug her captors had pumped through her veins. For everything she had gained, though—her health, her mind, her energy, her youth—she was missing twice as much.

She was certainly missing time. She knew it had been the end of May when she had been abducted by the man posing as her nurse, and she knew that she had been awake and in her cell for around two weeks, but the rest was a blank. Peggy still didn’t know what experiments had been performed on her, or how long they had lasted, or whether the effects were permanent, or why they had chosen her. She was an old woman, long retired, her body and mind quickly deteriorating. Any information or value she might have had once upon a time had expired long ago.

To have so little information was dangerous and unsettling. To be unable to gain access to further intel was worse. And to be unsure of herself, to lack trust in her own capabilities, was far more terrifying to Peggy than any captor.

=====

 

Peggy’s daily routine of two hundred one-armed pushups (one hundred on each arm) was interrupted by a terrific commotion. The facility in which she was held was still a mystery to her, but the explosions sounded close—perhaps at the end of a hallway.

She scanned her tiny cell for any object that could be used as a weapon—the intruders were yet another unknown, possibly either friend or foe, but luck favored the prepared, after all. It was a futile effort—the only furniture in the cell was firmly attached to the floor and walls, which left only the clothes on her back and the threadbare bedding.

She was left to her own devices. Luckily for her, she had always had excellent devices.

Footsteps pounded down the hall and paused in front of her cell door. Peggy shifted her weight forward, ready. The door swung open gently, slowly revealing a handsome, dark-skinned man wearing a strange metal contraption on his chest, almost like a high-tech, metallic bulletproof vest with a pack on the back. A soldier of some sort, judging by the way he carried himself. He held a gun in his right hand, though it was pointing at her feet rather than her face.

“Hello,” Peggy said politely, because good manners could be just as disarming as any hand-to-hand maneuver. “Are you a friend?”

He stood in the doorway, eyes wide. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, but no declaration of his intent was forthcoming.

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a difficult question.”

“Yes?” he answered. Though the reply had the cadence of a question, Peggy decided to take him at his word, at least until she escaped her current predicament.

“Excellent. I’m glad you’re here. Now I don’t have to go through the trouble of rescuing myself.”

The man gave a stilted nod, and his voice was strained. “Of course, Director Carter. Let me just call the rest of my team in.” He lifted his left wrist to his mouth—right hand still holding the gun—and said, “Hey, man, I could use some backup. Southeast quadrant, the cell block.”

Peggy couldn’t hear the voice in his earpiece, but at the way the man relaxed slightly, it was clear that someone was on their way.

“I have to say, Director Carter, you are not what we expected to find here.”

Peggy tilted her head to one side. “You mean, you aren’t here to retrieve me?”

“Well, actually—” Heavy footsteps jogged down the hallway, effectively interrupting the man. He poked his head out the door and sighed in relief. “I gotta tell you, man, I am glad I threw in my lot with you. Being your friend comes with some serious benefits.”

The voice from the hallway was a familiar one, and Peggy felt her heartbeat speed up at the thought of seeing him, just as it always had. “Sam, what the hell are you talking about? If anything—”

The man—Sam—stepped further into her cell, allowing the newcomer to pass through the doorway. He had never been a more welcome sight.

“Steve!” Peggy grinned. “Hello, darling!” She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she took him in, all broad shoulders and windswept blond hair. He looked tired and drawn, skin a bit paler than usual, dark circles around his eyes, but even so, she felt some of the pressure and anxiety surrounding her circumstances ease. First and foremost, Steve had always been her partner, and even this terrifying burden was easier to carry when she knew he would shoulder it with her.

Steve spun to face her. His mouth gaped as he stumbled back, grabbing onto the doorframe for support. His face was ashen, all color drained from his cheeks.

Peggy knew she looked rough from being in a cell for a couple weeks, but she hardly thought her appearance deserved that level of shock. If anything, she would have thought him excited to see her restored to the Peggy he once knew, many years ago.

“Sam,” he croaked, eyes wide and unblinking, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he closed them for even a split second. “Please tell me you see her too. Or have I just finally lost my mind?”

“Yeah, man, I see her. I can hear her too,” he said, placing a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Then it’s a trick,” Steve growled. His eyes went terrifyingly blank as he advanced toward her, every muscle vibrating with fury. Peggy took an inadvertent step backward—she had never been afraid of Steve, and that would never change, but she couldn’t help the shiver that rolled down her spine at the daggers his eyes flung toward her.

“A trick? What the hell are you on about, Steve?” Peggy lifted her hand to touch his cheek, as she had done probably hundreds of times in the years they had known each other. Steve grabbed her wrist tightly before she could make contact with his skin, and the pressure of his grip was almost too much. Behind the anger in his eyes, Peggy could see only absolute anguish.

“Tell me something only the real Peggy Carter would know,” he ordered, his voice wavering.

Peggy scowled. “I beg your pardon?” She wrenched her arm away from Steve’s grasp and rubbed her wrist vigorously. “Of course I’m the real Peggy Carter. What’s the matter with you?”

Steve stepped back, jaw clenching. “Peggy Carter is dead,” he snapped, eyes falling shut. “She died in her sleep six months ago last week. I carried her casket, I _gave a eulogy at her funeral_ , I—”

“Wait a minute. A funeral?” she bellowed.

 He stepped back and continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his fists clenched at his sides. “And now, we run into a woman with Peggy’s face and Peggy’s voice, and I _know_ what technology is capable of these days. So I don’t know if you’re wearing a mask and using a voice modulator, or if you’re an LMD, or a goddamned clone! But you _will_ stop impersonating the love of my life, because you dishonor her memory and that’s all I have left of her!” Steve shouted, his voice crescendoing until the hoarse roar echoed through her tiny cell.

She stared at Steve, unsure how to continue. There was a lot to process, especially the news that all of her loved ones believed her dead, but Steve looked about two seconds away from combusting, or breaking down in the middle of his mission, so Peggy took a deep breath and shoved all the chaos in her head to one side, to be dealt with later.

“When we met again in Azzano, you were sketching a performing monkey in between performances of the USO show. When I pressed you, you said that for all the indignity that came with being a showgirl, it was better than being stuck in a lab. I asked you if those were your only two options—lab rat or dancing monkey. And I said that you were meant for more than that.”

It was a sight to behold, the hope dawning on Steve’s face as she spoke. Peggy thought she could bask in the glow of his shining eyes for quite a long time.

“You told me, as the rain poured around us, that you had gotten everything you ever wanted, but you were wearing tights.” Peggy’s voice wavered slightly, but she soldiered on. “And then you went off on a mad-cap adventure to Austria, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Steve’s face contorted, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. He reached out and smoothed his thumb along her cheekbone, and Peggy sank into the warmth of his hand. He whispered her name, and with tears streaming down her face and her heart in her throat, she nodded sharply. “Yes, my darling. It’s me.”

He sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, his face buried in her midsection. She curled herself around him, knotting her fingers in his hair. Her world shrank to the man in her arms, his heaving sobs the only sound, the warmth of his skin the only feeling, the soft hints of his aftershave the only scent.

She closed her eyes and held on as the universe spun around them—finally, _finally_ , time and space had brought them both home.

=====

“The book was not on site,” Sam explained as the jet sped back to Wakanda, where they still took refuge from the Accords. Steve nodded, his hand clasped tightly in Peggy’s. Neither of them were overly demonstrative people, particularly in regards to their relationship, but she knew that Steve thought she would disappear if he let go for even a second. And it was certainly no hardship to twine her fingers with his and lean against his shoulder, tantalizing touches of dreams fulfilled and promises to be kept.

“The base still held a wealth of intel,” Natasha interjected from the cockpit. “It seems that Zemo had several contingencies in place, just in case he couldn’t manage to provoke you and Tony the way he planned.”

Steve stiffened, and Peggy squeezed his hand, a gentle question. He shook his head and whispered, “I’ll explain later.”

“One of those contingencies was Director Carter,” Sam continued, picking up Natasha’s thread. “It’s still unclear—Zemo was one paranoid bastard—but we think he faked her death to cloud you and Tony’s judgment, or as a distraction, or maybe something else entirely.”

Sam met Peggy’s gaze from where he stood, about halfway between the cockpit and where Steve and Peggy sat. “We’re still not sure why he chose to experiment on you, or exactly what he used. We do know, because he kept pretty detailed notes about random parts of his plans and omitted others entirely, that your rejuvenation was an unexpected side effect, but he just ran out of time to pursue it further. When we get back to Wakanda, we’ll run a couple tests and send them to allies who have expertise in this sort of thing.”

“Phil Coulson and his team, if you can believe it,” Steve added, rolling his eyes. “Because apparently no one stays dead anymore.”

Peggy snorted. “If you had asked me, I could have told you that Coulson was still alive. He came to visit me a couple times after, you know. Fury picked him as the one to rebuild SHIELD, and he wanted my advice.”

Steve shook his head, a little helplessly. “You never cease to surprise me, Peggy.”

She scoffed, even as she shifted closer, her hip nudging his. “I should hope not. I’d hate for you to get bored of me.”

“Not possible,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Every moment with you is an adventure.”

“Goodness, Steve. You could make a woman blush saying those things.”

“But not you?”

“Well, of course not,” she retorted, though her cheeks were definitely warm.

“And that’s my cue,” Sam drawled. He all but sprinted to the co-pilot seat, grabbing a noise-cancelling headset as he went.

Steve snorted and pulled Peggy almost into his lap. She gasped at the sudden motion, and he laughed. Peggy vowed, then and there, that she would do whatever she could to hear that sound again. Joy was hard to find in the midst of their winding, complicated, difficult lives, but as Peggy finally drew him down into a deep, loving, _perfect_ kiss, she could feel it between them. In every breath they shared, in the playful swipes of his tongue against her lips, in her accidental moan as he slid his hand along her thigh.

They had been granted a second chance at happiness, and Peggy would be damned if she didn’t hold onto it with all she had.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to write and post, but I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Happy New Year!


End file.
